The Broken Toe and The Cow Manure Harvester

Friday Evening arrives. I am frantically trying to make pizza for my children, two of whom are home for the weekend (due to the fact it is my daughter's 18^th birthday) and two of whom are at the football stadium getting ready to march in the band. We are soon to leave to go to the football game ourselves. As I quickly move through the hallway, I decide (unknowingly to me) to cram my toes into a 15 lb bag of potatoes sitting in the hallway. They were left in the hallway by my ever helpful husband who carried them in from the car and set them there instead of opening the door and putting them in the basket in the pantry where they go. Oh well. At least he moved them from the car. Cramming ones toes into potatoes is not a pleasant experience, I would not recommend it. But, being the “tough” mother of four that I am, I continue to walk to the kitchen and stand at the stove saying, “Man, that hurts. Owwww!”

My first born son is standing there watching and shaking his head.

I walk out to the garage to get cheese out of the freezer, and when I am headed back towards the door to go in, I suddenly realize that I can not walk any farther. This is when my ever helpful husband chooses to appear. He looks at me, as I stand leaning on the car with a bag of cheese in my hand and says, “What's wrong with you?”

I begin to cry, which makes me mad, which makes me cry more, but my toe hurts! “I think I broke my toe,” I wail.

“Well, do you want me to do something?”

I think, but do not say, “No, just stand there and look at me holding this cheese and crying.”

He very calmly says, “Do you want me to help you inside? Grab a hold of my arm.” As he sticks it out three feet in front of me. Men!

I finally reach a chair with all this help. My eldest child, first born of my heart, says, “What's wrong?”

I say, “I think I broke my toe.”

“It can't be broken. I watched you do it. It didn't hurt that bad right away. It isn't broken.” You see he knows these things. He is a Lifeguard, and has taken First Aid. He will tell you on any given day, “Legally, I have to stop and offer aid whenever someone is hurt.” Hmmm. He didn't offer “aid” when he “watched” me kick the potatoes. Silly boy.

“I think my toe is broken. It is swelling.” We all watch my toe swell. Weird, I know. But what can I say...

The pizza gets finished, I try to put on my shoes, noway. I debate not going to the football game to watch my darling two youngest children march in the band for two minutes at halftime. What kind of mother would I be if I missed such an important event in the life of my youngest children, who are short changed anyway, being the youngest and all.

The next day is my oldest daughter's 18^th birthday party. I have cooking to do and a broken toe. My dear friend comes to help. Thank goodness. The party was wonderful. The food delicious, but my toe hurts.

By Sunday, my toe is feeling some better. It is black, but not as swollen. My ever helpful husband comes in and asks, “Do you want to walk to the pond with me?” Did he forget?...

I go outside to walk to the pond with him, he has a wheelbarrow with a pitchfork in it. Obviously this is more than just a leisurely walk to the pond.

“I am going to walk to the pond to get cow manure,” He says.

“You are going to get cow manure from the pond?” Not only does my toe hurt, but my brain must hurt too.

“That is where they congregate,” He informs.

So we proceed, me slowly limping along with my broken toe. And him having to walk very slowly pushing the wheelbarrow and occasionally stopping to toss in a pitchfork of cow manure. We arrive at the pond. I sit at the picnic table and watch him as he moves from pile to pile filling his wheelbarrow. Romantic, I know. I bet you wish you could do such romantic things with your beloved. When the wheelbarrow is full we head back. I ask, “What are you going to do with this wheelbarrow full of cow manure?” Knowing that he has been known to store it in a tub in the garage. Lovely. Yes, bet you want that too. Now, don't covet.

“I am going to spread this wheelbarrow full on your garden.” He replies.

“Oh. Good. It needs it. Thank you.”

“I think this would make a good job for one of the children. Do you know which one I am thinking of? He can be a Manure Harvester. I am sure he will be thrilled.” We both laugh.

I go in, my toe hurts.

(I know you are wondering what else he does with cow manure, why was it in the garage? He puts it in his bee smoker and burns it to smoke the bees. See you learned something new.)

And that is the story of The Broken Toe and The Cow Manure Harvester.

Peace, Peace with God

I liked this defintion of the word "shalom" in Hebrew, "all things in their created place doing what they were created to do in loving relationship with their creator."  Having thought of the word "shalom" having the meaning of "peace, peace be with you" I found this definition to be thought
altering.  What if all things were in their created place, where God had placed them and wanted them were doing what God had created them to do and were doing it in loving relationship to Him; wouldn't that give peace to you and me.  Wow! Open your mind and think about it... it is mind boggling.  Everything God created, the trees, the bees, the birds, each individual person, all exactly where God wanted them and doing exactly what He wanted them to be doing.  Whether it was to be pollinating the flowers, loving a neighbor, singing a song of praise, giving oxygen to the world...whatever it is that God created it or them to do, they were doing it.  What a wonderful, peaceful, beautiful life that would be.  Maybe that is what heaven is like. Then add this verse, "And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes and be careful to obey my rules."  Ezekeil 36:26-27  It is God who gives us a new heart, one that is tender and soft and He gives us a new Spirit that causes us to walk in the way, His way and obey His rules.
He is the one that causes us to desire peace, peace with Him.  He causes us to desire to be in the place He created us to be in doing what He created us to do.  So that we can enjoy peace.  Shalom.
(Shalom definition by Mark Driscoll, in The Power of Words and the Wonder of God, I don't know where he got it or if he just made it up, just thought it was good.)

A Bee Story (Rather Humorous, I do say)

Last Autumn, I took a class on how to raise honey bees.  The class lasted about six weeks.  After the first couple of weeks, I told my husband, "I can't do this.  I won't be able to lift all this stuff and do all the things you have to do."  He very calmly and sweetly says, "You go take the class and I will help you."  So, I take the class.  I find out about someone in our community who raises bees and arrange for us to meet him.  He does not do things like the class teaches you, which is fine.  There is more than one way.  We order our bees from him.  Four "nucs", that is what a starter set of bees is called.  However, we don't get them until July, which is very late.  Whether it is because he made a mistake or didn't know what he was doing, I don't know.  So now we are trying to get the bees ready for winter.  Because it is so late in the season, we are having to feed the bees so they will make enough bees and honey for the winter.  One of the things I learned in class and from this beekeeper was to not ever do things with the bees in dark, fuzzy clothing, or on a cloudy (dark) day.  Remember that it will be important later.
The first time we go out to the bees in our cute and stylish bee suits, it is 100 degrees, I am taking pictures.  When I get tired, I get in the truck and wait for my husband who wore short pants (hint, hint) and dark black, fuzzy socks.  He gets in the truck, I say, "That went well for a first time I think."
He says, "All except for when I got stung."
"You got stung?! Where? How?"
"A bee flew up my pants leg."
"So what did you do?"
"I squished him.  When I squished, he stung."
"Why did you squish him?  You aren't supposed to kill the bees."
"Tracey, at that point, I had few options."
Several times he has been to feed the bees in black socks and short pants.  Guess what?  He gets stung almost every time.  You would think... well maybe not.
We are feeding the bees, it is time to feed them a pollen patty.  I had to make these from a recipe from our beekeeper friend.  They didn't come out quite like they should have, I don't think.  Every time I get ready to do something with the bees, my husband says, "That is not what so and so does," or "That is not how so and so said to do it."  Finally, I say, "Fine, you do it.  I am done."  (My healthy Irish heritage, sometimes gets the better of me.)
My husband has been taking care of the bees by himself ever since.
One evening after supper, he gets up and says, "I am going to feed the bees."
He takes forever.  My phone is dieing, so I get up to go plug it in, wondering where he is.  As I walk to the bedroom, I catch a glimpse of him in the garage.  He is bent over, breathing heavy, and shirtless.  He never goes with out his shirt.  I think... I hope he is okay... If he has a heart attack and dies I will kill him... he doesn't have nearly enough life insurance to support me.  (I didn't really think that at the time, but later. It just makes the story better.)  I open the door and say, "Are you alright?"
He says, "They were," panting "chasing me."
"Who was?"
"I think I lost them."  Heavy breathing, pant, pant
"Where is your shirt?"
"On the deck."  pant, pant  "I think I only got stung once."
"The bees were chasing you?  Really?"
"I think one was in my shirt."
Now understand the bees are not anywhere close to the house.  They are across the creek, and around the corner on the other side of the woods.  (I later learned that he ran even farther than straight to the house in order to lose the bees.  He ran past the gate, down to the orchard, then to the house.)
He ran all the way home, trying to lose the bees.  I guess he did manage to lose them.  Do you know what he was wearing... short pants; dark, black, fuzzy socks; and it was dusk (almost dark).  All big "no nos" when working with bees.
Will he ever learn?  See you next time on the same bee channel...

Pondering

Today, I was pondering.  Not about the word ponder, which will cause me to digress.  It rhymes with wander, you know.  Anyway...
I was pondering the amount of excess that Americans (at least a vast majority) have.  A friend had asked me if I owned a bread machine.  A bread machine is a handy little "servant" that makes fresh homemade bread unattended.  It is wonderful.  Well, I own two.  My wonderful husband had purchased me one a long time ago, for Valentine's Day no less.  I have used it quite a bit off and on.  Lately, we had been using it more to make sandwich bread.  My children will eat sandwiches on homemade bread but rarely otherwise.  This bread machine makes bread in a tall tower like shape.  The puffy round part is on one end when it is done.  I had made the comment several times, I guess, that it would be better if it would make bread the sideways way.  You know like a normal loaf.  My husband being the thoughtful person that he is found one on the internet and had it shipped to me for no apparent reason.  (Everyone, now, "AWWWWW.")  Yes, I know. 
So when the friend asked me if I owned a bread machine, I had to say, "Yes, I actually own two."  I am kind of embarrassed.  It is extravagant.  It didn't have to be a bread machine, it could have been a vacuum cleaner, a car, a sewing machine, a dress, a pair of shoes.  You get the picture. 
My response to the question started me pondering the excesses of American life, and my life in particular.  Not that we live all that extravagantly, we are putting two children through college and raising two more at the moment.  But just how much more we have than we really need. 
For instance, do I really need ten dresses with matching shoes in my closet.  No, one or two would be plenty.  But it makes me wonder what God would think about it.  Then that started me pondering my ungratefulness, and made me come to the conclusion that I above all others should be so much more thankful than I really am.  I love the song, "I am the last one worthy and the first one grateful." 
The Holy Word of God says,"For although they knew God, they did not honor Him as God or give thanks to Him, but they became futile in their thinking, and their foolish hearts were darkened."  Romans 1:21  When we fail to give thanks, are brains become muddled and our hearts dark. 
So where did all this pondering lead?
I don't know how but I want to simplify my life, not desire to aquire, and to be so much more grateful for the blessings that God has poured out on me.
All for the glory of God and God alone.

Mother's Day

My Mother's Day story begins with wonderful children.  My youngest daughter greeted me with a hug and a cheerful, "Happy Mother's Day, Momma!"  She is a joy and super sweet.  My other daughter wanted to give me a gift.  "Close your eyes."
"Kaitlyn, I am eating yogurt."
"Close your eyes, Mom."
So, I closed my eyes.  She gave me a beautiful new red blender.  I can't wait to use it.  Her card was cute.  Something about because of me she didn't grow up to be an exotic dancer, but if she had she would have been able to buy a much nicer gift.
Then, the pig died.  A sad, sad day in the lives of us wannabe farmers. The pig had to be disposed of in the usual manner with a trip to the in-laws.  My husband took on this chore with a brave, but solemn face.  So, I went to church without him.  When I returned home, he had left on the kitchen counter a card and gift.  A new GPS, I was thrilled.  This started a conversation about who got the best gift to give me.  Kaitlyn was bragging, that she had purchased the best gift.  My son, Jack, was standing next to me listening.  He states, "Hey, Kaitlyn, watch this."  As he reaches his arms around me and gives me a hug and says, "Happy Mother's Day, Mom.  I love you."  Then he stood there and let me hug him back.
If you don't know Jack, well let me just say this was earth shaking.  A most wonderful gift.  Definitely the high point of my day.  Jack does not let people touch him and he most assuredly rarely gives hugs.  I was delighted to receive such a gift from him.
Then my husband's parents came for lunch.
And finally my first born child returned home from college in Texas.  A wonderful sight.
A wonderful day thanks to my family.  I am truly blessed by God.  It is for His glory and His alone.

Happy Mother's Day!
This is a special tribute to my mom.  Happy Mother's Day!  Some things to bring a smile to your face...
3 children who love you.
1 husband who adores you. (He would do anything you asked.)
Be glad that your children don't bring you dead animals, especially pigs on Mother's Day.
This comment needs some explanation, which requires some storytelling.
We had a pony, named Pepper, for my son.  One morning when my husband went out to feed him, he found the pony dead.  He came in to tell me and to have me keep my son away from the window.  I asked him if he needed help and what was he going to do with the horse.  He said, "I am going to take him to Mom's."  Just what every mother wants, a dead horse.  I asked how he was going to load a 600 pound horse.  He said he was going to put him on the wheelbarrow.  Okay, this I had to see.  He put the wheelbarrow upside down on top of the horse and then got a rope and tied the horse to the wheelbarrow.  Then he wrestled with it until he got it flipped over.  Drat!  Didn't have the truck ready.  Get a chair to lean the wheelbarrow on.  Back the truck up to the ditch, in the middle of the road.  Wheel the dead horse, now on top of the wheelbarrow, down the drive to the ditch and into the truck.  It was hysterical to watch.  I hope his mother appreciated the gift.
 A few years later...
My in-laws were at the house, visiting.  My father-in-law was getting ready to leave and decided to drive across the pasture.  My geese were walking across, he says, they will move.  They didn't.  He ran over the gander.  So... you guessed it.  The gander went home with him, with my husband's mother.
Now...
We had three pigs.  We took two to freezer camp.  The sow, Sally Soo Wii, is left.  She is lonely.  My husband pets her, calls her "Sweetie" everyday.  He is so gentle and sweet with her.  She follows him, when she gets out.
She gets sick.  My husband rushes to the store for medicine.  The next morning (Mother's Day)... the pig is dead.  I guess she died of loneliness.  What is he going to do with the dead pig, on Mother's Day?  Take it to Mom's of course.  Now, why didn't I think of that.
So, Mom...  Be glad I am not bringing you a dead pig for Mother's Day.
I love you.
Tracey

National Day of Prayer

National Day of Prayer is May 6.  If you have never participated, now is the time.  We need to stand up for our faith and the principles this country was founded on.
We have had a National Day of Prayer is this country since the beginning.